


and so, we unfold

by TheKitteh



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Developing Relationship, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friday is a good bro, Get Together, Happy Ending, Iron Man Big Bang 2019, M/M, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Origami, POV Alternating, Reconciliation, Starkbots feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 04:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19124830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKitteh/pseuds/TheKitteh
Summary: Senbazuru. Thousand Cranes.An ancient Japanese legend that promises anyone who folds a thousand origami cranes will be granted a wish by the gods. Some stories believe you are granted happiness and eternal good luck, instead of just one wish, such as long life or recovery from illness or injury.Bucky’s not big on believing in any legends, not after all that has happened. He just wants to create something for a change, not destroy.He needs to prove himself that he can be trusted to handle something delicate. He doesn’t need a promise of a wish come true. He just,- needs to do this for himself.He  doesn’t need noticing how sad, tired Stark looks. Doesn’t need to want to do something for the man, when he can barely do anything for himself.---Tony simply goes through days and motions. He deals with the Avengers, with R&;D, with the rewritten Accords. All of it, it’s nothing new really. He just wants to get things done.What’s new is seeing Barnes hunched over the coffee table, one step away from ripping a glossy magazine apart in the middle of the night.And why the hell Barnes keeps looking at him during the days after like he’s a puzzle to be solved?





	and so, we unfold

   
  


A lifetime ago, Bucky Barnes used to be a believer.

He used to believe in the God the pastor would drone on about during Sunday school. In the good fight, in the goodness of men. In his duty to protect his family and his country.

In his brother in all but blood.

Then he fell, in more ways than one and woke up on the wrong side of the century, hands bloodied and more red in his ledger than it was possible to erase.

 

 

He didn't want to forget and so he kept reminding his therapist. It wouldn’t be fair to all the people who fell victim to HYDRA, he said. It wouldn’t be fair to him as well. He wanted to remember everything and acknowledge that he was as much of a victim as the dead bodies he left behind.

He’d been learning how to forgive himself. Twice a week he was scheduled to meet with his therapist, an elderly woman with grey in her hair and the warmest eyes Bucky has ever seen. Trisha was a good person and there’s warmth to her that made Bucky slump in the chair; as if he were visiting his nan, and not fixing the scattered remains of his brain. She cajoled him into talking - in a soft way that he had been unable to explain - and his words always made sense when she did. She was endlessly patient, with a bit of dry humor that leaked through every now and then and startled him into a laugh that still felt strange in his mouth. She guided him to find his own answers, nudged him back on track if he took a wrong step. Reminded him what needed his focus instead of what he _thought_ he should focus on. Bucky knew he wouldn’t be where he is now without her help.

At least he thought it was help, Bucky sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. A list of YouTube “ _how to learn origami_ ” videos has been saved onto his tablet and in front of him, there was a glossy magazine he had been thumbing through for the last half an hour.

 

Stark had been watching him for a good portion of that time, coffee cup in hands as he leaned onto the opposite wall. He felt the other’s eyes bore into the side of his skull as if Bucky was a riddle to be solved.

Well. Stark wasn’t exactly wrong in that assumption. His brain really felt like a messed up puzzle.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” Stark finally said, voice that resigned sort of amusement Bucky associated somehow with _family_. “So what exactly did Vogue do to you to be on the receiving end of your murder glare, Sub-Zero?”

Homework, Trisha called it. Convinced him it would be good for his body and his mind, to make the conscious decision to create something with both of his hands, and not destroy. Bucky had been polite enough not to call it bullshit because The Winter Soldier folding paper flowers was as ridiculous as it was possible.

  
And yet….  

 

“Origami.” Bucky mumbled, eyes still on the cover of the high-fashion magazine as if he could burn holes in it. The artificial light bounced off happily from the scissors he brought in earlier, almost felt like it was mocking him.

“With _Vogue_? What, you’re gonna thousand crane the shit out of Wintour’s prized baby?” Stark finally pushed himself off of the wall, feet making that strange floppy sound like a duck straight from the pond. “And that’s the anniversary edition, too,” he clucked his tongue.

Bucky felt how warm the back of his neck was. Perhaps he was thinking too much about this whole … paper folding thing. Trisha was probably right - or definitely - and he just needed to pick up the paper and do it.

“This shit’s important?” He looked up finally when bare feet appeared in the peripheral of his vision and fought back a wince.

Damn, but Stark looked like shit. His eyes were bloodshot, rubbed red and puffy, the skin underneath grey. He wore the same garb Bucky saw him in two days ago, jeans stained with oil and shirt fraying at the hem. The cup in his hands trembled briefly until he pressed his fingers into the ceramic.

He looked so damn tired, with his shoulders slumped and neck bent that Bucky briefly wondered by what miracle was the man even standing straight.

But what had him blinking, was the look in Stark’s eyes as he stared at the magazine. It was so _sad_ , accompanied by barely there downward pull of his mouth before the man caught himself and schooled his face into a pleasant mask of amused curiosity.

He squared his shoulders, lips stretching in a wide grin.

“Nah, just old stuff laying around.” He said and the fake voice seemed to grate on Bucky’s nerves like broken glass.

Stark was known to put up one hell of a show, even when looking impossibly domestic. Maybe especially when he was looking especially domestic. Everyone and their mother knew that. Almost everyone ignored it almost on a daily basis because it was easier to go with Stark’s play. More comfortable.

Bucky was unable to pinpoint when he learned to recognize the little slip-ups of Stark’s charade - like this one right now - but every single one made him feel an odd buzzing underneath his skin.

“It’s… therapy,” he said slowly, learning what sharing information with someone who was not Steve felt like.

Stark fell on the opposite side of the spectrum of Bucky’s social interactions. Not that he had many, to begin with, too focused on reshaping himself after being HYDRA’s murder puppet. But he preferred watching, observing, learning how everyone ticked and worked in this place. He was always good at seeing people, how to read ‘em.

“Ah.” Stark made a thoughtful little noise in the back of his head, eyes snapping from the magazine to Bucky’s face.

There was no pity in that look, just a sort of resigned understanding. Good. Bucky wouldn’t know how to handle pity. Especially from Stark. He held his gaze. Took notice of each and single line etched around Stark’s eyes, felt his mouth form a frown.

The man needed a proper rest.

“Should you be still up?”

“Yeah. I should, I really should,” Stark rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking all sorts of uncomfortable. Bucky’s voice must have been rougher than he intended and Stark shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Well. Have a blast tearing into it. Don’t worry 'bout the mess, the bots will take care of it.”

Bucky nodded, that all too familiar buzzing back, brows furrowed at the hasty retreat. Then he looked on as Stark padded away towards the elevator, already muttering something about codes and designs under his breath.

 

“Miss Fri?” He finally spoke out, eyes still trained on the closed door at the far end of the room.

“Yes, Sarge?” FRIDAY’s reply came almost immediately, polite as ever.

 

He never told anyone, but the AI was one of his favorite aspects of living with the Avengers. She was quite terse with them all when they first arrived, with a decent amount of good reason too. She was a true Stark child - brilliant and bright, fiercely protective of what she claimed to be her own, topped with a ridiculous amount of sass and Bucky couldn’t help but adore her. She was the future he always envisioned and even being able to witness her growth was a humbling experience. And not to mention take an active part in it.

He’d like to think she came to like him as well, often engaging in chats with him whenever he remained alone for a longer time and - he dared to believe - her voice was brimmed with fondness. It didn’t escape him that out of them all, the ones who came back, he was really the only one she willingly interacted with.   

“Was this …” he faltered, miss Potts’ name on the tip of his tongue but it felt heavy, laden with the knowledge that it was not his place to ask.

FRIDAY, the absolute darling that she was, confirmed his unfinished question and Bucky sighed, eyes once again falling onto the magazine. The break-up was amicable, or so he was told, but he supposed letting a loved one go was never easy. And while he was far from believing gossip, Bucky believed his own eyes. Miss Potts would visit quite often and Stark always welcomed her with arms wide open and warmth almost no one else seemed to be able to coax out of him.

 

“Is he ok?” He chose to ask and the pause this time was longer.

“My apologies, Sarge,” she said slowly and that was an answer all on itself, “but you do not have the appropriate level of clearance to access any of Boss’ personal information.”

 

No, then. Well, that was hardly a surprise, considering how Stark looked like lately. Bucky wasn’t sure what to do with that information, so he filed it away, to return to it at later date. Maybe at one when he’d know why he needed it in the first place. Clearly, it was time to change the topic,

“And what did he mean by those cranes?”

“Oh,” she chirped, already sounding happier than she did a second ago. Worried about her creator, no doubt. “According to Japanese tradition, folding one thousand paper cranes gives you a chance to make one special wish…”

 

 

Tony sighed, rubbed a hand over his eyes as he entered the workshop, the lights popping up as he moved around. Screens and holograms fluttered to life, Dum-E’s claw rising in greeting, beeping and bopping happily.

He padded over to the table in the middle, took a sip of the already lukewarm coffee and cringed. He should really invest in a thermo-cup. Or maybe, finally fix the coffee machine he had installed in his workshop ages ago and allowed Dum-E to run maintenance on.

Tony knew that was a disastrous idea from the get go, but Dum-E seemed so happy and U recorded every single second, crowned with the explosion of a coffee stream right into Dum-E’s chassis. Glorious.  It was worth all the trips he had to make upstairs to get his fix.

 

“Baby girl?” he called out after a moment, eyes flickering between the lines of code, the newest reports and the newest design plans for the Compound. “You’re here with me?”

“Always, Boss.” Friday replied almost immediately, her voice that pleasant lilt that tugged at his heart.

 

He loved her, he really did. But sometimes she spoke and he flinched, her youth and curiosity a painful reminder of the reasons behind her birth. He never regretted creating her. She was not a substitute, Tony knew she wasn’t. But knowing she wasn’t JARVIS was one thing, completely letting J go… Well, it was never said that Tony Stark did things the healthy way.

He tapped in a few commands, pulling up a website on the nearest screen.

“Stationary shopping, Boss?” she quipped, already taking over the task, the item basket slowly filling up. “Might I suggest that I’ll avoid all the pinks?”

“Why, you think they’re too much?” He was half-tempted to have her order all those pinks anyway, just to be that much of a dickhead everyone seemed to think he was.

Ha had a vague feeling that it would be wasted on Barnes, the man was unphased by pettiness and with good reason too. Tony would probably be met with one brow raised and that was if Barnes’ was feeling up to let any emotion show at all.

“Pink doesn’t really seem like Sarge’s color.”

Tony scoffed, the sound sounding pathetically fake as he moved the hologram of the new and improved smoke arrows around. FRIDAY took a liking to Barnes, after her initial distrust phase and Tony was still on the fence how he felt about that. She updated him on what “Sarge” was up to, chirping away about how he called her Miss, how he talked to her about his therapy sessions and how eagerly curious he was of the new world.

 

Tony didn’t really need to know all of that.

 

He wanted to do his thing, he wanted to work with Steve despite there being a lot of broken trust (both ways, it was always both ways, blame never lay solely on one side, he reminded himself). He wanted to be able to do his work for the R&D and for Pepper in peace, he wanted to focus on implementing the rewritten and corrected Accords, into life.

Knowing that out there was Barnes, who kept to himself as he did such Herculean work on reclaiming his identity, was like a goddamn itch that he couldn’t scratch. It made him want to do something, he wasn’t even sure what, maybe poke as if it were a festering wound or …  

“I did not program you with a soft spot for the world’s biggest sorry case, you know.” He said finally, throwing a glare at one of the cameras for good measure. He could almost hear Rhodey’s laugh and his ‘ _oh you’re giving her shit for picking up strays??_ ’ remark. As if Tony had a habit of picking up anything or anyone.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Boss.” She remained quiet for a moment, just long enough to convey she was not sorry at all. And then, “Do you think Sarge would appreciate a star making set in red, white and blue?”

The bots beeped in agreement and Tony choked on his coffee, spitting it all over his shirt. Laughing out loud, reaching for a towel to dab at the stain.

“Hell if I know, baby girl. Go wild,” he grinned, pulling off the ruined tank top over his head and throwing it away. Dum-E beeped and rolled towards it, clearly thrilled by the task. Tony will probably never see it again. “Just remember. You took the task of mommying Barnes all on your own. You deal with it.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

God, she sounded pleased as punch about having a free hand in it all. This was going to come back and bite him in the ass, one way or another, Tony was sure of it.

He drank the remains of his coffee, the now cold sludge resting unpleasantly in his stomach before he zoomed in on the designs.

Friday and her oddly placed sympathies could wait for a whole eternity.

 

Tony had work to do.  
  


To his own eyes, Tony looked awful.

The lines around his eyes seemed to have deepened further since the last time he dared to take a closer look at himself. The shadows under them became darker. The corners of his mouth tilted dangerously downward, as if too tired to fake even just one more smile.

Silver began shining around his temples and in the painfully upkept goatee.

Tony sighed, turning away from the mirror. He could probably deal quite well with aging, would bring the silver-fox thing to new heights. Even if on the wrong side of forty, Tony still upkept his position as one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. Again.

Avengers’ business kept him in absolute top shape. His fortune kept him on the Best Dressed lists of all the important magazines year by year. He was friends with legends and gods and accounted one of the most powerful women in the world among his closest friends, even if he sometimes missed the warm comfort of waking up next to her. His inventions were better than ever and sometimes Tony worried he had reached the peak of his brilliance.

He had Friday and his bots. He had his Rhodey, and Happy and the boys.

But his eyes were dull, lifeless.

 

His mother used to say they were the most vulnerable, the most beautiful part of him. She’d whisper it against his temple, her fingers gentle over a blossoming bruise. ‘ _You can fake your smile, tesorino, but you can never kill that gleam in your eyes. Nothing and no one ever will. Even you.’_

 

The laugh that bubbled out of him then was awful, a tired, jaded sound. Oh if only his mother could see him now, this perfectly groomed shell of a man with mud-like-eyes. The man who once again, had everything and nothing.  

Tony Stark was more of an empty, gold-plated bauble than a treasure.

 

His fingers worked slowly on the buttons of his shirt. Pushed each meticulously through their respective hole, as if his whole life depended on being buttoned up properly. The shirt fit perfectly. Of course it did. So did the jacket and the slacks. Everything matched; shoes, socks, tie. Blue tinted glasses.

The armor had to fit his frame like a second skin, least it pinched or gave in, crumbled under a push too hard.

Tony sighed, ran a hand through his hair to make sure it remained casually messy. He could probably spend half a day in front of the full body mirror, picking on every single flaw he had. After all, he had them pointed enough times to have them memorized. Alas, today was not the day.

“How are we with the schedule, FRI?” Tony asked, throwing one last look at his reflection.

Immaculate, as usual.

Perfect.

Fake.

“You still got a good twenty minutes to kill, Boss, before the car arrives,” she chirped, timed the elevator perfectly for him to step into without waiting even a second. “Miss Potts insisted you’d be present for all of today’s meetings, unfortunately. Might I suggest grabbing a coffee before leaving? I have been informed that the main office still hasn’t changed its kind of beans.”

“That bad, huh?” He leaned against the mirrored wall and looked at the camera straight on. He could see the green light there blinking faster than necessary. “Alright. Thanks for the heads up, baby girl.”

“Always, Boss.” She remained silent for a while, before speaking up again, and this time she sounded almost cautious. “Sarge and mister Rogers came down for breakfast into the communal kitchen.”

“You’re on a roll today, sweetheart. Yet another warning.” Tony shook his head with a smile, and this one felt real. “It’s not like I need one in my own home, you know. Besides, what happened to liking Barnes and having his back?”

Friday huffed out, “I like Sarge just fine.”

Again, at the tiniest note of defensiveness in her voice, Tony’s heart gave a small tug. After months of talking to Tony only, first, she slowly started connecting with Pep and Rhodey. Then Peter and Harley. Happy, too, even if only to boss him around. Somehow Barnes got included in the scarly small circle of people FRIDAY interacted with out of her free will, but Rogers was still on her “do not like” list.

 

Tony wondered sometimes if it wasn’t his fault if he didn’t project too much of himself and his hurt onto her. Maybe it was one rant too many, one drunken monologue to Rhodey too much?

“But?” He urged her gently when it became clear she wasn’t too keen on continuing. Tony never wanted FRIDAY to keep things from him, good or bad. Even if she said something uncomfortable, Tony wanted her to know she _could_ always tell him.

“You don’t. Your stress levels are always elevated when you come into interaction with him or anyone who’s been a part of his team.”

Tony took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second. It wasn’t that FRI wasn’t right. He tried his earnest, he really did. (It didn’t matter that his best wasn’t always enough, he was used to that.) There were days when everything went smoothly like nothing ever happened. Then there were those where Steve would make a move too fast and Tony was back in the cold, with his chest cracked open and the taste of blood in his mouth.

He kept telling himself it was fine, that he was dealing with it. He should’ve known he couldn’t keep it hidden from FRIDAY.

“It doesn’t matter.” The door pinged quietly as he arrived on the communal floor. On purpose, he added a teasing lilt to his voice. “I know you’re worried, but you should know by now, that nothing can stand between me and my coffee.”

“If you say so, Boss.”

She sounded so upset, that brilliant girl of his. Tony smiled, felt warmth settle in his bones, his heart swelling with affection as it usually did when FRIDAY got upset all on his behalf.  

“We’ll be fine, baby girl.” Tony stepped through into the kitchen, nodding to where Steve and Barnes were sitting. “Morning, soldier boys.”

Steve’s tiny jerk of head was almost unnoticeable, as was the way his eyes widened the tiniest bit. Still, Tony saw. He had spent too much time looking at Steve, before, not to see these things right now. It should’ve brought some sort of satisfaction to Tony, that Steve also struggled with how to act when they were around each other.

  
It didn’t.

Instead, it made him _ache_.

He missed Steve, despite how there were moments when he wanted to strangle the man. He missed believing in what they could’ve achieved together.

 

“Tony,” Steve breathed out and that famous Captain America smile was fragile at best. “Good morning. Do you wanna join in?”

 

Barnes just nodded back at him, silent and solemn as ever. His gaze lingered on Tony though, bright and sharp, a while too long to be casual. If Tony wasn’t as skilled as ignoring other people’s eyes, he’d feel unsettled by the attention.

“Nah, I’m good. Just grabbing one to go,” he explained as he grabbed a traveler’s mug from the top shelf. He smirked at Steve, and even he could feel how fake it was. “Apparently Pep still didn’t order to exchange the sludge they serve at SI and you know how this goes. Things to go, places to do. Or something like that.”

“Yeah, sure.” Steve’s eyes dimmed a little and a year ago Tony would have been kicking himself mentally for putting that beaten puppy look on his face.

But now, they were still in the process of getting to know each other again, building a tentative trust that came with the price of a few punches and a whole lot of awkwardness. Tony pushed in a few buttons on the coffee machine, set his perfect, inhuman kind of brew and waiting for it to start pouring.

The silence was so stilted it felt like a physical weight pressing against him, Tony thought as he blinked at the machine. He missed the casual way the conversations would flow or even the comfortable moments where no one said a word.

“Sarge, there’s a delivery man at the front door, requesting your signature.” FRIDAY, bless her code, spoke up that very moment.

Barnes, for all his ability to pull a murder face, looked absolutely hilarious, eyes wide and startled as he looked at the ceiling. He blinked up a few times, before throwing a confused look at an equally confused Steve.

“Why?” The amount of surprise in his voice was unbelievable as if receiving a parcel was something unexpected in his life.

Then again, Tony mused as he sweetened his coffee, it probably was, when you were still working your way up from being a murderous ice-cube.

“It is the standard UPS procedure, Sarge. To receive the package, you actually do need to sign it.”

The absolute flat way FRIDAY delivered the line startled a laugh out of Tony and Steve both, Barnes cheeks coloring the tiniest bit.

 

  
  


Stark was humming under his nose, mood obviously better than just five minutes ago, as he accompanied Bucky on the ride down the elevator. He was dressed to the nines, obviously off to another day of important meetings.

 

It was a curious thing, how many armors Stark donned on a daily basis.

 

“I didn’t order anything,” Bucky said finally, eyes on the changing numbers. At least he was fairly sure he didn’t. He hadn’t tried to get access to his assets, however large or small they could’ve been, more focused on his state of mind than that of his wallet.

“I know you didn’t.” Stark took a sip of his coffee, not even batting an eye at how hot it still was. “FRI did. Don’t worry, we got it covered.”

Bucky leaned against the wall, pinched the bridge of his nose. The green light at the camera in the corner blinked three times at him as if the AI was laughing at him. In the depth of his stomach, something curled, tight and cold.

He didn’t want to take advantage of Stark’s hospitality. Of Stark’s anything. The man gave too much already.

“Hey, Frosty,” Stark said and his voice held an astounding amount of uncertain. “Look, if you don’t want what’s in the boxes, just leave them outside your room, the bots will take care of it. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“I didn’t ask her to,” Bucky muttered, hunching his shoulders.

Next to him, Stark scoffed the floor with the tip of his shoes. With hands in his pocket, he looked more like a rumbustious boy than the terrifying businessman and superhero he was.

“Oh, right, this actually reminds me. If there’s anything you need, you know you just gotta ask FRI, right?”

At the sudden offer, Bucky looked up, not sure what to make of it. What could he need that he hadn’t been miraculously given? He had a place to live, enough food to sustain his super serum heightened metabolism. Clothing, always impossibly soft and always in muted colors. Therapy. Reinstatement as a former soldier and recognition as a prisoner of war.

Bucky had more than he ever thought he would and Stark was really saying he could have more, he just needed to ask?

Something must have shows on his face, because as the elevator stopped on the ground floor, Stark seemed to throw himself out of it.

“I mean, please don’t buy weapons, that might not fly with Carol and I would have to talk with Rhodey, because I _make_ your weapons, so any purchase made by FRIDAY would be immediately considered high-risk or something.” He swallowed visibly as Bucky stepped out, still silent because once Stark started ranting it was best to let him finish. “Books maybe? You popsicles like books right? Kitchen utensils? DIY stuff? Or just anything within non-murdering reason, yeah? Ok, good talk, catch you later Barnes.”

Bucky really wanted to say something, anything, but the human tornado that was Tony Stark simply evacuated himself from the building. He could see Stark hop into the car, hand over his face as he slumped in the seat before his attention snapped to UPS delivery guy, standing ram straight at the reception desk.

There were three large boxes on the floor next to him.

“James B. Barnes?” The man nodded at him, handing over the tiny tablet. “Paid and delivered, please confirm the delivery with your signature.”

“I didn’t…” Bucky trailed off, sighed and signed with the little pen. Even if it was an elaborate prank of some sort, the delivery man was not the one to blame. “Thank you.”

He rubbed a hand over his face as he stared at the boxes. There seemed nothing out of ordinary about the boxes and yes indeed, his name was on each and every one of them.

“Mister Barnes, should I call anyone to help you get these above?” The receptionist smiled at him, polite as ever, that kind of smile that never reached her eyes.

“No, I’m fine.” Bucky sighed again.

No use in wasting time, he thought. The boxes, despite their size, were rather light. Nothing liquid based inside, at least. He couldn’t hear a rustle of powder as well, not to mention the shuffle of glitter. He would not put glitter past Clint.  

 

 

An hour later, Steve found him in the common room, staring at the boxes. They were still closed. He sat there in silence, thoughts buzzing in his head and knife flickering between his fingers as he contemplated whether he wanted to take the risk or not. The chances of it being Clint’s prank were high. He didn’t order anything and Steve would tell him even if it were to be a surprise. There was literally no one else who could possibly order something for Bucky.

“If I may…” FRIDAY spoke out, that pleasant lilt in her voice oddly soft as if she were trying to gentle a blow. Before she could continue, however, Steve marched into the common room with a mug of tea. He smiled at Bucky, trotted towards him like an over excited puppy.

Apparently, his mood picked up considerably since breakfast, Bucky noted with a twinge of envy.  

“So what did you get, Buck?” He slid into the chair opposite of him, eyes bright. The stumbling way Steve did that, so obviously on purpose because it was still all too easy to startle Bucky, he shook his head.

“I don’t know.”  Bucky shrugged, looked up at the nearest camera. “Miss FRI, you were sayin’...?”

“It was nothing, Sarge.” She said curtly and fell silent.

Bucky blinked, shook his head again. FRIDAY and Steve were a constant work in progress, he wasn’t about to get in between them, especially with three suspicious boxes in front of him.

“Well?” Steve cocked his head to one side, that puppy impression growing stronger. “Aren’t you going to open them?”

His mind was whirring. It was no secret that the Winter Soldier has been accounted among the Avengers. He has been pardoned along with the rest of Steve’s team, united front and all, but Bucky didn’t delude himself that the public eye forgot his doings under HYDRA’s thumb. Not did he belive HYDRA gave up on their prized possession that easily.

His breath stuck in his throat, heart thumping painfully in his chest.

And that would just be too easy, wouldn’t it? Send something innocent, straight into the heart of the Avengers’ living quarters. People received parcels every day. Even people like Bucky.

“Sarge. The boxes have been scanned and are safe.” FRIDAY said, her voice once again gentle and she must have picked up on his breathing or elevated heart rate, bless her code. “These have been ordered especially for you.”

Well, then.

 

 

With a deep breath, Bucky twirled the knife between his fingers one last time, ignored Steve’s grumpy ‘ _must you do this at every occasion?_ ’ and drew the blade along the edge of the box. The tape tore easily and within the next five minutes, Bucky was staring wide eyes at what could only be described as rainbow vomit taken form.

“You ordered paper?” Steve asked and he seemed as surprised as Bucky felt.

 _I didn’t order anything,_ Bucky thought, same words he told Stark over an hour ago. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

There must’ve been hundreds of different colored papers inside of these boxes. Solid colors and patterns. He saw cranes, and flowers, stars. Geometrical prints. Matt and glossy, textured and smooth.

His fingers itched.

 

_I know you didn’t._

Stark’s reaction suddenly flitted to the front of his memory, all rambling and stumbling, as if he were a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The quick way he jumped to assure Bucky that he could’ve just toss whatever it was inside and it would be good. That he didn’t have to accept it if he didn’t like it.

_FRI did._

 

“Miss FRI,” Bucky called out softly, as he picked up the paper on top of the stack, the one that caught both the artificial light and his attention the most. It was smooth, beautifully so, tinted crimson and gold. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me, Sarge.” She sounded pleased nonetheless and Bucky felt his mouth twitch in a smile. She loved her Boss so much, Bucky sometimes wondered if there was anyone who couldn’t see it. “I didn’t do anything.”

Steve gave a surprised noise next to him, as Bucky rubbed a thumb gently over the papers surface. He was hardly an expert, but he was sure he never held a paper of such fine quality in his hands.

Light years away from that magazine he ripped to shreds.

“I know you didn’t.” He said finally as he looked up at FRIDAY’s nearest camera. She was everywhere, Bucky knew, but this way, he felt like he could look her in the eye and hide nothing.

The green light blinked twice, then again, a happy little twinkle that caused his smile to widen and something warm unfurl within his chest.

Tony threw the tie to the side, saw out of the corner of his eye that it got caught on Dum-E’s claw. The bot beeped excitedly, rushed away to take care of it.

 _Good ol’ Dumbo_ , Tony thought with utter fondness, too tired to even care that the tie would probably end up in the shredder by mistake. His first boy was a perfect disaster, just like his creator.

“Rise and shine,” Tony muttered out of habit, “Daddy’s home.”

 

The workshop lit up to life, the blue light of the popping up screens dimmed the tiniest bit. Bright enough to work, not harsh enough to hurt.

Tony stretched, winced as a crick in his neck pulsed annoyingly. Board meetings were the bane of his existence. He should convince Pepper to let him do vidcons or telcos. Twenty-first century and all, he had all the technology needed right there under his fingers.

Tony shrugged off the jacket, hanging it carelessly on the back of the chair. Rolled up his sleeves then, thousand of plans and designs already unraveling in his mind. His whole body seemed to buzz with the excitement of creation, of bringing another idea into life.

He waited the whole damned day for this.

“Alright FRI. What we’ve’ got …” and he trailed off, spotting something that he was dead certain has not been there the last time Tony was here.

Something that should _not_ be there at all. Something that made Tony’s tired heart stutter in his chest.

“FRI?” It came out quiet, a barely there breath of her name, but she heard him.

She always heard him.

When she spoke, she too was hesitant, shy in a way she should never be. “It’s for you, Boss.”

There, resting on his worktable, in all of it’s clumpy, ugly glory, was a tiny, red and gold crane.

  
  
  


They didn’t talk about it. They don’t even _mention_ it in passing.

That was ok.

Bucky didn’t expect Stark to say anything, really and he wasn’t about to do it as well. It was a miracle Friday let him into the workshop at all, back when Stark was gone. Didn’t expect her to let him stay for longer than absolutely necessary.

Not that he expected that himself if Bucky was being honest.

Truth is, Bucky didn’t mean to linger, once he dropped the crane onto the workbench, but he did. He stood there for a while, in the semi-dark workshop. His eyes traced the scattered tools and dormant robots, and sketches, sketches and more sketches on the holographic screens. He took in the soldering iron and drawings, the half-started projects, a clutter of circuit boards and cables and metal-embedded elements that glowed like stars.  

He stood in silence, in reverence, before he remembered why he was there in the first place.

It was a silly, stupid thing to do, Bucky knew that. But the urge to _do_ something, as he sat in his pitifully empty room, surrounded by sheets upon sheets of shiny, smooth paper was just too overwhelming. Because Stark did this for him. Just like that, the screen of his StarkPad lit up with the paper cranes for beginners tutorials almost immediately and so, the very first paper crane was made.

It wasn’t-

Bucky hoped it didn’t matter that it wasn’t pretty. The beak was slightly off and one of the wings was angled odd, but there was a certain rough charm to it. Bucky left it among the clutter on a workbench and finally walked away with a heavy heart, not looking back at the mess of technology.

The future was always something that grabbed his attention as well and as far as he could remember. The future held him captive, maybe even more ever since that disaster of a flying car and apparently, over seventy years of brainwashing and abuse hadn’t managed to erase that part of him.

Which was one of the reasons his eyes and thoughts both kept coming back to Stark.

Princess Shuri was amazingly brilliant, there could be no doubts about it. She and the younglings like her - Peter, Harley - they would dictate the world's course, Bucky knew that. They were the world’s future.

 

But Stark’s workshop - Stark himself - was _future_ all in itself.

 

He told Trisha, in starts and stops, because the thought seemed so ridiculous he couldn’t keep it buried inside of him.  It was the one and only time he saw her brows wander up her forehead for a moment before she made him take a breath. And when he did, she asked why did he think that, why would Tony Stark of all people be someone he associated with that particular word.

Bucky didn’t have an answer any better than “ _just because it’s true_ ”.

Now it was a week later and he still didn’t come up with anything more reasonable than that. It was like his brain just decided on that and refused to budge and all the work Bucky did in digging through himself only left him exhausted.

So he accepted it as a natural state of things.

Rain fell when heavy clouds rolled in, pineapple on a pizza was the devil's invention, Steve would always be his brother in all but blood and Stark was future embodied.  

Simple as that.

It’s the reason why his eyes stray every time Stark entered the room, why they would flit over to the man’s face. The reason why he cataloged the way he looks and the way he moved; why he learned the difference when he’s tired and when he’s exhausted (it was in the slump of his shoulders and the deepening of lines in his face).

 

For a future, Stark didn’t really look all that well.

 

“Does he take care of himself?” He asked Steve once, waiting for the popcorn to finish popping in the microwave.Steve looked absolutely taken aback, then horrified and then so hauntingly guilty as if he peed into Winifred Barnes’ flowers. That was a no, then.

They held movie nights every two weeks if the circumstances allowed. Everyone took turns choosing a title and everyone attended. The first few times were awful, grinding on Bucky’s nerves like a millstone, with Steve radiating agitation and Stark looking sick, Natasha between them all tense like a bowstring.

Jurassic Park broke the last bit of ice; they all agreed on Jeff Goldblum being a gift that kept on giving and the first tentative laughs begun. They all looked at each other in silence long after the movie ended, and Bucky could _feel_ the air shifting into something more breathable.

Steve and Tony still didn’t know how to be around each other; it was a constant pull and push between them, one step forward and two back on both ends. It was painful to watch, on the best days and on the worst, Bucky would much rather leave them alone.

At first, he did, too.

But the more he looked, the more often he stayed. Because sooner or later Stark would look at him, skin tight around his eyes and mouth flat. He’d blink then as if surprised Bucky was there in the first place - and that pinch tight expression would fade away for a second, something else entirely in its’ place.

It took far too long for Bucky to recognize it, to remember what that look meant.

 

Sad.

Stark was _sad._

 

Bucky didn’t really know what to do with that sort of realization. Some dust-covered part of him brought up the image of Steve; but it was the old Steve, the one whose heart was too big for a frail chest. The current one, with the way he and Stark were at loss around each other? Bucky surmised he’d be no real help.

He considered Natasha for a while because if someone actually knew, it would be her. She was too much like him not to see. But then he witnessed her eyes just glide over Stark, not once stopping as she carried on with her business as usual.

So maybe she didn’t.

Or maybe she chose not to know, not to see. It was always easier not to.

Bucky rubbed a hand over his face, focused on the garish purple and white paper in front of him. The cranes were becoming slightly less awful, definite progress from that first one. They still looked like something a pup tried to munch on and then spat, but Bucky liked them either way.

It was nice, knowing he could create something so bright and colorful.

The thought of it made him smile every time it popped into his head - that he carried several papers with him at all time now. That he could sit down to watch the noon edition of the news, pull out a sheet and let his fingers do the work. Or watching Nat train Sam - and that usually was a sight all on its own.

He wondered briefly how many did he make it by then; he usually tried to bring them back to his room. But their number wasn’t big enough for him to forget every single one and there were a few missing.

  
The bright blue one, with a darker shade on its wings. The silver one with red dots. The gold and purple one, the biggest he’s ever made yet.

When he mentioned them, Steve shrugged and patted his shoulder. Said probably he left them somewhere, or they fell out of his hand and the cleaning bots disposed of them. He was probably right too. Those bots kept the whole place nearly spotless - a feat, considering how often they all came back bloodied and dirty.

Still, those missing ones were one of his first. It would be nice to have them, Bucky rationalized within the safety of his own mind. Like a baby’s first curl of hair or something. A memento of something changing.

He wondered if Stark threw out that very first one.

Probably.

There was no reasonable excuse for him not to do that. He might appreciate the gesture, but the fact remained the same - that crane was nothing but a piece of garbage. Just a paper folded bird, created by the same fingers that closed around his mother’s throat.

Who was he kidding?

Stark probably burned it with one precise repulsor blast.  

 

The way Tony thought Barnes would mention something? Anything at all …? Well, that turned out rather naive of him.

Tony actually toyed with the idea of addressing the issue, even if there was no issue, not really; after all, no safety protocol was breached or anything. But he didn’t exactly know how, that’s one, and two? Two is that Barnes could hardly ever be found alone.

There was _always_ someone with him lately, be it Steve or Natasha or Sam, or some mix of the three and for a moment Tony was almost certain that he _dreamt_ that encounter when Barnes was about to rip into Pepper’s Vogue. So it sort of put any sort of Tony’s attempts of having a Conversation with Barnes into a stop.

And In all honesty? If Tony hadn’t noticed one tiny, little detail, he wouldn’t even think about striking it up in the first place.

But the thing is, Tony noticed. Barnes was rather subtle about it, of course he was, Soviet ghost and legend to his name, but the fact remained the same.  

He was looking.

At Tony.

And it would be ok, Tony was more than used to people looking at him, taking their fill and then some. But there was something else beside careful curiosity in Barnes’ eyes when he looked at Tony. Something _off_ , something that shouldn’t be there.

Barnes never looked away when Tony caught his gaze. He didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic, just looked on; tipped his head to one side, like a curious, ruffled bird.

It took him a ridiculous amount of time to figure it out. And in his defense - certified genius and whatnot - it was only because it was so damn unexpected. Not just from Barnes, but in general.

Because that look? It made him think of longing and the very thought was all sorts ridiculous. Because Tony knew better now. People didn’t _long_ for him. They found him attractive, oh yes, that and they openly lusted over him even as they spat in his face. People wanted Tony Stark’s attention in the form of his money, his influence or at very least his cock and that was it.

 

No one simply longed for Tony, not anymore.

 

It was a ridiculous thought and Tony laughed to himself when he first realized in which direction his mind wandered off.

“You ok, there Boss?” FRIDAY sounded worried and she had all right to be.

It wasn’t every day when Tony would just start giggling all of the sudden to himself, maybe the tiniest bit hysterically, while he was working on the finer details of the Avengers’ new gear.

“All’s good, FRI. Just had a very funny thought.” He smiled to himself, felt how hollow and brittle that smile truly was. “So we got Barton’s arrows up next and then Wilson’s wings, right?”

A second or two too long of a pause, before FRIDAY spoke.

“Right, Boss.”

A worrywart, that one, Tony hummed to himself, focusing on both the task at hand and the warmth inside that spread whenever he thought about one of his children. He had to mistype somewhere with that mother-hen programming, but Friday took it for a whole new spin and emerged fiercely protective over what she considered hers.

Without looking he felt around the table for the tweezers, too taken with the issue of clogged up canals inside the arrowheads. It’s been happening more and more lately, and while Clint’s aim was impeccable as always, a faulty Stark tech would not fly on Tony’s watch.

“Drawer, Boss”.

With a muttered thanks and still not looking away from the schematics that were shimmering in front of him, Tony opened the drawer and reached inside.

And for a second, he froze.

He felt paper and sharp, clear lines under his fingers, in a place where there should be metal and plastic. He heard a rustle instead of a clang.

_What the …_

He saw a lot of weird, unexpected things in his life; you name it, Tony probably saw it. Magic, creatures, tentacle aliens, a hooker sorceress, a defrosted live American icon, yeah the list was loooong.

But in all honesty, he never suspected to be greeted with the sight of _more_ paper cranes among screws and bolts. They weren’t perfect - the gold one’s beak was in fact slightly squashed - but still looked better than that first one he found, clear evidence of someone’s growing experience.

“FRI.” He spoke, picking up the red and silver one.

“Yes, Boss?”

“Mind explaining how these got here?”

The thought that Barnes would keep coming in and out of his workshop like he owned the place, unsettled something within him. This was Tony’s place, his very core. To have someone barge in like that….

“The records show that unit seventy-one found them near the kitchen and brought them here. DUM-E put them in your drawer.”

“... why?”

The pause was enough for Tony to imagine a perfectly fake shrug if she was ever capable of giving one.

 

“Cause the last one made you happy, Boss.”

 

 

  
  


Out of all the inhabitants at the Compound, enhanced or not, Bucky had yet to identify which of them had an actual death wish.

Sure, Steve and Stark both sometimes did absolutely reckless shit on and outside of the battlefield, but that was more of a personality flaw-slash-trait than anything else.

But to see signs of actual entry, of someone’s presence in _his_ room?

Bucky felt unsettled, to say the least.

“Miss FRI?” He called out, trying to ignore the crawl of cold up his spine.

And as usual, she never left a pause, never left him waiting. “How can I be of help, Sarge?” There was a warmth in her voice, conjuring an image of a smile and twinkling eyes in his mind.

“This was not here before,” Bucky said slowly, his eyes focused on what seemed to be a rather large jar.

Cork and all, it even had a hastily tied ribbon in the middle of it; not a very good one, too, it was a rather pitiful sight, to be honest with one of the bow’s ears hanging miserably.

 

“Boss said you might want to store your cranes in this,” FRIDAY replied without missing a beat and not giving a damn that Bucky’s heart all but stopped. “I believe his exact words were, ‘ _The biggest one you can get so that the damned bots will stop bringing me more_ ’.”

 

And ‘lo and behold, there were his missing cranes on the bottom of it; every single one he thought he had misplaced in the very first days.

“Oh.” He blinked, rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t think of a storage unit for them earlier on, it was kind of Stark to supply him with one. Even if he didn’t really have to.

Bucky will probably have to man up soon and thank the man properly. One way or another.

How do you thank a man who has everything, again…?

“Sarge?”

He untied the ribbon - and surprisingly, it was pale blue - before looking up at the camera in the corner of the room.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” She said quietly, so unlike her that for a second Bucky thought he’d imagined her speaking at all.

There was nothing he had done to warrant any form of gratitude; in fact, earlier that day he messed up the ice dispenser to the point where it spew ice cubes _constantly_  until Bruce came in and fixed within ten seconds flat.

“Uh.” He swallowed loudly, ran a hand through his hair in confusion. “Ok? You’re welcome?”

Friday didn’t speak out anymore and it was strange to feel like she abandoned Bucky. She was everywhere and at all times, an omnipresent, constantly growing stream of bright code; it wasn’t like she slipped away through the back door and slammed it close behind her.

But it still felt like that.

As if she spilled a secret and ran away before Bucky could figure out what the secret was exactly.

The jar was a heavy weight in his hands, the few cranes looking pitifully small inside as they glided across the smooth surface of the bottom. At least soon they’ll have more companions, Bucky sighed, thinking of the few left alone on his table.

He blinked then, jostled the jar and held it closer to the nearest light source.

 

The red and gold crane wasn’t there.

  
  
  


“Morning Sarge.”

Bucky grinned at corner camera before wiping his face with the towel, “Morning Miss FRI.”

Sleep’s been eluding him lately, waking up drenched in cold sweat at ass o’ dawn and instead of twisting and turning in his bed, Bucky decided to make good use of the early hour.

 

And wreck a gym bag or two.

 

It wasn’t that rare of an occurrence, really, and at first, he felt guilty, trashing the place like this, until FRIDAY pulled up the feed of Steve doing the same over the course of few last years and mentioned that Stark made the standing order for the bags with super soldiers in mind.

His file said he used to be a welterweight boxing champion. Three times, it seemed.

Bucky liked to think that the accuracy and easiness of his punches stemmed from that and not HYDRA’s training. That this was _his_ and _him_.

“I’d like to inform you that you have by now made one hundred seventy-three cranes. Forty-one of those are in Boss’s workshop while the rest is in your living quarters.”

Bucky blinked in surprise.

“You keepin’ count for me, Miss FRI?”

“You weren’t about to do it for yourself.” She said, so proud of herself and Bucky grinned, hands steady over the bag. “Still a way to go to the even thousand, Sarge.”

“I’m not,- It’s not like that Miss FRI.”

 

It wasn’t about his belief in a legend. It wasn’t about making a grand wish, of clinging to some sort of hope.

 

It was for him and by him, remembering that he can handle things that are small and delicate. That he can create. That he is more than a weapon of destruction.

“Of course.” She agreed easily and then continued, “But it can’t hurt to have a wish as you go, can it?”.

Bucky cracked his knuckles, stretched his arms up and took a stance.

There was a tingle in his fingers, the flash of gold and red in his mind before he landed a punch. The dull thud echoed around the gym as he steadied the bag again, fingers splayed over the black letters of STARK INDUSTRIES.

“I suppose it can’t, Miss FRI.”

  
  


It kept happening.

Like how was it his life even by this point?

He had FRI order an appropriate jar - and they both did the calculations to see how big it should be, thank you very much - and he _still_ kept finding those damned cranes all over the place.

It wasn’t to say that every single one made it back to his drawer, nope, hell no.

Some seemed deliberately left out there for him to find, like the trio of black and bright blue, in a neat pretty line near the coffee machine in the kitchen. There was no way for a cleaning bot to do that.

The cleaning bots, Stabbies - god he wanted to hate Clint for that name, but it fit so well - were too small to even reach the counters.

So it could only be Barnes who left them there, for Tony nonetheless and that sort of short-circuited his mind. A lot.

He took the three back to the workshop, placed them near the wonky red and gold one and decided to do things Tony Stark way.

Ignore it.

Could’ve been a coincidence for all he knew. And well, they were kind of pretty.

And it felt … nice, to pretend they’ve been left for him. Which they hadn’t, of course, but,- yeah, nice.

“Should I order a jar for you, Boss?”

The gall of his own child. Mumbling under his nose about donating Fri to the nearest community college, Tony pulled out the newest projects for the R&D. Let it not be said that the brilliant Tony Stark was slacking.

Or could get distracted by something as small as a paper crane.

  
  


It was surprisingly hard not to get distracted by something as small as a paper crane when a string of those - in the most _garish_ color combination Tony has ever seen - dangled in front of his office window in the middle of the most boring board meeting ever.

Pepper chewed him out later on for taking the armor for a spin during work hours, bless her soul.

The multi colored garland hung over the entrance to the workshop since then.

 

  
  


“Friday, are you encouraging him?”

“I would never, Boss.”

  
  


Tony really meant to bring this whole thing up after finding Dum-E decked with a wreath of glittery green ones.

But Dum-E was whirling and beeping happily, clearly presenting his fancy outfit and looking so ridiculous that the only thing that was left for Tony to do was to lean onto the nearest table and smile and order Friday to take as many pictures as possible and send them to Rhodey.

When was the last time someone did anything for one his bots, even something as simple as this…?

Tony couldn’t remember.

“I got something for you.”

 

Both him and Steve turned towards Barnes’ as he strode into the kitchen where they were preparing snacks, before giving each other a look that was equal parts confusion and suspicion.

They were so perfectly in union, him and Steve, that his heart clenched and Tony had to mentally steady himself not to do something stupid like reach out and pull the towering blonde into a hug.

Tip toeing around each other, that’s what they were doing still, learning where the lines between them lay and where they blurred.

“Me?” They both asked in the same time and Barnes huffed out a chuckle holding out a paper bag.

“Not you,” he waved his metal hand at Tony - how did he made that seem not disrespectful or rude was a mystery -  then turned to Steve. His smile fell, seriousness hardening his features and Tony blinked at the sudden change. “You.”

“Buck,-”

“You made me remember. So, this is… for you. ‘Cause I remember you now.” He pushed the bag towards Steve and Tony fidgeted slightly, feeling like this was a moment not for him to witness, not for him to share.

There was something hauntingly soft in Steve’s face before he took the bag, a flush of color in his cheeks and the tips of his ears, giving the hardened Captain America a boyish look. More of the skinny dumpster diver from the photos than the man Howard would never shut up about.

“Made it myself too,” Barnes said, voice gentle quiet and yeah, that was Tony’s queue to move.

But then he caught Barnes’ gaze -  saw the miniscule shake of the head and barely there uptick of lips-  before he looked back at Steve. And was downright rooted to the spot, because this felt like,-

Like Barnes wanted him to stay.

Steve’s barely there blush turned into a full face of red, to the point where Tony managed to worry about him popping a vessel but then all worry was gone, because in Steve’s hands,-

It was biggest paper crane Barnes probably ever made, Tony was sure of it.

 

And it was _horrendous_.

Tony couldn’t look away from the monstrosity, from all of the shiny papers and the silver stars and the mixture of red-blue-white that should be elegant but somehow came out tacky. There was glitter falling off of it, clinging to Steve’s fingertips and making a sparkly mess all over the floor.

 

“Thanks for being a _stellar_ friend, Stevie.” Barnes said, voice perfectly flat and that was what made Tony break.

 

Laughter bubbled out of him, bright and laud in the same moment as Steve made an outraged sound. The crane was pressed into Tony’s hands, glitter and shine and all, and from behind the blur of tears, he could make out Barnes’ wicked grin as he bolted from the kitchen, Steve hot on his heels.

“FRI,- FRI,-…” he choked out, feeling all of his stomach ache, wiping the tears from his eyes and leaving a glittery mess all over his face. To hell with it.

 

Worth it.

 

“The recording has been already sent to Colonel Rhodes, Boss.” She paused for a second, as Tony chuckled under his breath. “As well has been added to mister Rogers’ Christmas File.”

He took a long look at the crane, grinning to the point where his cheeks ached. Maybe the thing was for Steve per se.

But the whole scene, however?

The perfectly staged set up, with just him and Steve present? That quick sharp look, that barely there smile? The deadpan way Barnes spoke about the paper-made nightmare?

There was no sense in telling himself otherwise. It was clear that what Barnes was doing? That was for _Tony_.

  
  


“Boss, Sergeant Barnes is requesting entry to the workshop.”

“Oh _now_ you deem it important enough to announce him?” Tony snorted, pushed the gogges up his forehead. “That’s new. Almost had me thinking he’s got as much access to this place as I do.”

He rubbed his nose, probably smudged grease all over it as FRIDAY remained silent.

“Fine, let your boyfriend in, Jesus.” He sighed, because in all honesty what was he supposed to do? Have Barnes wait for all eternity? The man hardly came here anyway, at least not when Tony was around; it might be refreshing to see the man who stole his girl’s coded heart in person in Tony’s own environment. “Just be aware that you are not getting my blessing to install yourself in his arm.”

She had to be quicker on replaying his agreement to enter than he thought, because a second later Barnes’ amused voice reached him, “We’re installing Miss FRI in my arm?”

The welding torch fell from his hands with a loud clunk -luckily the flame going out upon impact with the floor - and missing Tony’s foot by inches.

“Hell, warn a guy, some of us have a heart condi…” Tony turned and took a double take, “... box?”

Barnes cocked his head to one side, bright eyes wide and curious and Tony’s brain suddenly decided this was the perfect time to admire how _adorable_ he looked.

Barnes looked… well, adorable, yes, but other than that, he looked good. Like, healthy good, all neat and put together. He had his hair pulled back in a ponytail, few strands framing his face. The burgundy henley Tony was oddly familiar with - even if it was not the exact same one - and it was a fashion choice he could easily get behind.

It looked sinfully good on the man Tony’s brain unhelpfully supplied.

There was, in fact, a large box in his hands, looking all sorts like the one that came in weeks - months? - earlier, when FRIDAY decided to do stationary shopping.

“Heart candibox?” He asked with an amused lilt in his voice and Tony felt cheated, no one ever warned him Barnes was this much of an enjoyable smartass. “Times sure did change, didn’t they?”

“What’s with the supply run, Terminator?” Tony ignored the comment gracefully, wiping his hands into his jeans. “If you need more just ask FRI, you know the drill.”

“Nah, I’m good. Need to keep ‘em somewhere safe for a while tho.” He lowered the box and it was more than half filled with the paper cranes. “Did you know Clint upgraded one of your bots?”

 

He, in fact, did not know that Clint upgraded one of his bots and _oh my god what even_.

 

“Clint what now?” He turned to see his bots, saw Dum-E make a little wavy motion towards Barnes and the man grinned and nodded back. Traitors all of them. Traitors from his own blood and code. “They seem ok?”

“The cleaning ones.”

“Uh-oh. He got his hands on one of the Stabbies?” Aside from the ridiculous name, the bots were harmless. They should be at least. God, Tony hoped they were harmless.

“Attached a zippo lighter to one and nicknamed it Char.” Barnes sighed, shifted the box to orest it on his hip and ran one hand through his hair. “Feisty little thing, likes to burn all the papers in its way. It managed to break my jar before Miss FRI took over and directed it somewhere else.”

“You mean I have a rogue flamethrower bot running around the Compound?” Tony ran a hand over his face, groaned, “FRI, darling, what the hell?”

“Number sixty-six is harmless, Boss. For some reason, however, it decided that Sarge’s cranes are to be destroyed and those are the only things it is after. I suggested to Sarge that the cranes could be stored here for safekeeping.”

Of course she did.

Tony stared at the box in Barnes’ hands for a longer moment, wondering how on Earth did he end up with an AI with what could only be described as a crush on the former assassin, before he sighed.

“I just wanted to ask,” Barnes said quietly, almost shy and oh hell no, not this on top of everything. “If it wouldn’t be too much of a bother. We already ordered a new one, so it would be two days or something.”

“And Sarge has crossed the four hundred marker by now, Boss.”

FRIDAY was not even trying to be subtle, Tony realized and sighed. It’s not like he could say no in the first place, with Barnes’ therapy origami on the line like that.

“Yeah, yeah, sure? It will be safe here.” He shrugged and Barnes literally brightened up. “The cleaning bots don’t come in here too often, you know.”

Unless it’s to bring him a wayward crane or two, but Tony didn’t plan on saying that out loud anytime soon.

“Boss is absolutely right, Sarge,” FRI said and if it were physically possible, she’d be smiling. She took a moment as if she was gathering her thoughts. “The cleaning bots are mostly forbidden from entering the workshop. As a result, the culture of bacteria behind the coffee maker are inventing the wheel as we speak.”

 

 

The look Barnes gave him was _impressive_.

“She’s over exaggerating.” Tony grinned then, waved a hand towards one of the racks where some space could be found. “Fri tends to be overdramatic sometimes. Go wild, Coolio.”

“Can't imagine where she takes that from,” Barnes said, picking up his box and walking towards the presented space. Tony took a moment to just watch, all precise moves and a kind of strength that seemed to ripple around the man before the words registered.

“Hey! You come here and insult me in my own house and home??”

“Hardly an insult when it’s the truth, isn’t It?”

Asshole.

“So, four hundred huh?” Tony followed, taking another peek into the box before moving some stuff around on one of the higher shelves. “So you’re all set on getting that wish I see.”

Barnes’ eyes flickered to him for a second.

Blue, bright; glimmering with all the lights from the workshop and _kind_.

“Yeah.” He admitted quietly and Tony’s heart skipped a beat at how intimate the admission felt. “Something like that.”

 

  
  


Four months in, the one thing Tony didn’t take into account when he apparently agreed to Barnes’ almost constant presence in the workshop was Steve.

Which was a huge overlook on his end and one he didn’t exactly have an excuse for. Of course, Steve would sooner or later come down, to the place where Barnes spent a couple of hours per day.

Every day.

Tony’s not entirely certain they even discussed it, but then again Barnes makes for surprisingly nice company and Tony didn’t really mind. It was,-

Nice.

Even when they weren’t talking to each other, which was most often, it was oddly comforting to listen to the rustle of paper, to the soft whirring of gears and shift of panels coming from the back of the room. It was nice to hear Barnes mutter to himself or Friday, listen to him humoring Dum-E and U.

 

Barnes made himself a place in Tony’s workshop and life, apparently.

 

It was a revelation, one that dawned upon him, when Barnes was vetoing his gift choices for Pepper’s birthday. Tony dreaded the task, whenever he remembered that day was almost there, but two hours into online shopping, Barnes bodily removed his StarkPad from Tony’s hand, told him to go and work so that he and Friday can find a proper present.

Friday’s glee was palpable, Barnes’ muttering about crazy billionaires and their antics was amusing and it was one of the best days Tony had, his cheeks aching from grinning.

Pepper loved the gift and Barnes became a constant presence.

So when one warm afternoon, after Barnes left for the day and Friday informed him that Steve’s on the ride down and asking if Tony could see him, Tony blinked in surprise. He didn’t miss out on the fact that for the first time in forever Friday used “Captain” when announcing him, even if she still kept her voice perfectly flat. Then he scoffed at himself for being surprised at all and briefly wondered what good ol’ Captain wanted from him.

A quick check in with Friday confirmed they didn’t have a fitting or new upgrades planned for that day; and in all honesty, Tony was in the workshop purely out of habit, tinkering on some older projects. He could use a distraction.

And well, Steve’s visit could hardly be anything weirder than Barnes’ almost daily ones by now.

The dangle of rainbow colored cranes that was wrapped around the shelves was enough of a proof. And the ones on the bots, and the red and gold one in a glass case on Tony’s main desk.

 

Steve’s eyes seemed to trace every crane displayed in the workshop, his lips curling in a shaky smile before he turned to Tony. Things have been getting better with them - movie nights helped in mending bridges and gaps _a lot,_  especially when they included throwing popcorn at each others’ heads - but right now Steve seemed oddly hesitant.

Almost shy.

It was an odd look on him and Tony cocked his head to the side in confusion.

“You alright there, Steve-o?” He asked, voice coming out gentle as if he was talking to a scared animal rather than a living, breathing, American icon.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed out, walking up.

He reached out towards the glass case, fingers tracing the edges of it before he retracted his hand. That smile of his widened and softened at the same time.

“It’s,” he began, then shook his head. Closed his eyes, took a breath before looking at Tony. “Thank you.”

It came out so quiet that Tony almost didn’t catch it. He stared at Steve - the Steve whose frame was usually towering, powerful - with his fingers now playing with the too long sleeves (and where did he find a henley too big for him was a question for some other time), hair all messed up and blue eyes so damn earnest Tony still wanted to punch him.

And then the words registered.

 

“Yeah, no, what?”

 

There was something about super soldiers in his own household that made his genius and brilliance seem heavily over-rated.

It was a surprise he didn’t find that half as annoying as he should.

“Bucky’s been,- look, Tony. He’s,” Steve ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more before he let out a long breath, “Just, thank you.”

“Ok.” Tony nodded, wiped his hands into his jeans, “Don’t get me wrong Sippy Cap, it’s nice, but what exactly are you thanking me for here?”

Steve shrugged and Tony had to fight off a smile. For someone built like a goddamn brick house, Steve sure could look adorable when he wanted.

“Buck.”

With a start, Tony realized that the fact that almost everything Steve-related seemed to revolve around Barnes didn’t send an aching pang through his heart anymore. It didn’t taste bitter and cold anymore, it didn’t make his shoulders tense and his fingers to twitch with an urge to rub over his heart.

“I’m pretty sure I remember you were the one who brought him in. After you know, everything.” He leaned back, sitting on the table and giving Steve a curious look. “Hardly any of my credit there.”

Steve’s eyes skittered towards the cranes again.

“I mean this.” He said slowly and there was that hesitation again, “I don’t know if you’re just humoring him or is it something else, but he’s the happiest I’ve seen him since we found him. And with, with everything, I know this must be weird or some sort of hardship, or both.” Steve took a breath and took Tony’s sense of balance along with it, because what, “So thank you, Tony.”

Steve kept looking at him in that damned earnest way that reminded Tony of a golden retriever and Tony,-

Tony was sort of stuck in a loop of thinking how much of hardship it was _not_. Of how not weird it was. How it was hardly humoring anyone. How he came to actually anticipate the moment when Friday would beep him that Barnes’ access code was used. How Barnes had an access code to begin with.

He looked at the crane on his desk - so clumsy compared to the ones Barnes made now - the one that started it all and felt warmth pool in the pit of his stomach. It settled there nicely, then seeped into his bones.

 

Shit.

 

“Tony? You ok?”

Steve’s uncertain voice brought him back, blinking at the man hoovering just inches away, his hand outstretched but not touching.

A year or so ago, that hand would be on Tony’s shoulder and Steve would be all proper concern, eyes dark with worry and voice thick.

“Yeah,” he rasped, ran a hand over his face then straightened up as he slid off the table. He looked up at Steve, straight on and held his gaze. “And you can rest your patriotic head, it’s not weird. Or a hardship. No problem with your faithful emo sniper being here whatsoever.”

Quite the opposite, in fact, Tony’s brain supplied immediately, but that was definitely not for the here and now.

The way Steve’s shoulders sagged with relief, that hard exhale he didn’t manage to quite stop - it  was mind-blowing. And Tony felt that all to familiar pang, that urge to take that missing step.

What was stopping him?

 

Nothing, he thought with sudden clarity. Absolutely nothing.

 

So he opened his arms a little, blown away by the way Steve’s eyes widened in disbelief. Turned his hands in an opening manner, feeling like a monstrous weight was take off of his shoulder.

There was a tentative light in Steve’s eyes.

“Hey, Steve.” Tony said quietly, taking a step forward. “C’mere.”

Steve never needed many initiatives to do the things he wanted, and in a blink of an eye, Tony found himself wrapped in one of the tightest, bone-crushing hugs he ever experienced.

And he was friends with Thor and Hulk alike, so that was saying something.

“Hi, Tony,” Steve muttered into his shoulder, made a little sniffling sound as he was downright curled around Tony’s smaller frame. Tony’s hands were full of his shirt, balled into fists and pressed into his back.

He had missed Steve, despite the pain they inflicted upon each other. He had missed him somewhat fierce.

 

Maybe now he could have him back.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He was pretty sure FRIDAY took pictures of him and Steve hugging, from all angles.

His suspicion was confirmed a couple of days ago when a developed photo in frame appeared on his desk.

Barnes claimed to know nothing and damn it all, his poker face was impeccable. He folded thirty-seven cranes that day - was almost at seven hundred by then - and left four of them on Tony’s desk.

He lingered there for a second, waiting for Tony to look up. Apparently, Tony took too long.

“Bucky.” He said and Tony hissed, the soldering iron slipping and burning his fingers. “I was thinking you should call me that.”

Tony blew on his fingers, blinked when Bar,- Bucky took his hand gently, looked over the burns. He tsked and tasked under his nose, muttering something about Tony being a walking disaster.

 

So, so rude.

 

He should say something in his defense, but the touch of Bucky’s metal hand was soothing.  

“Over my dead body, Bucking Bronco.”

Bucky flicked him on the nose with another crane and Tony didn’t stop smiling till the evening.

  
  
  


The day after Tony and Steve finally settled things between themselves, on the first day of Spring, Natasha curled herself into a neat little ball at Tony’s side during movie night.

Her hair smelled of lilies of the valley and tickled his cheek.

“Agent Romanoff,” he whispered with a smile. “Missed me?”

Her hand was warm where it rested over his. “Always.”

Over the top of her head, he could see Bucky; his eyes on Tony and Tony only. He remembered the first time he noticed Bucky watching him, remembered the confusion he felt back then.

Now, a few hundred paper cranes later, his heart gave a happy thump-thump in his chest, lungs expanding so hard it hurt.

A good hurt.

Natasha never said a word as Tony hid his sudden smile in her hair.

  
  
  


Bucky stared at his reflection in the mirror and rubbed a hand against his chin. The stubble rasped against the inside of his hand, the hair short and coarse and catching on the callouses there.

He blinked slowly, watching the flutter of his lids in the mirror.

 

The day before, once their meeting was over, Trisha commented with a smile on how good he’s been looking lately. He thanked her, laughed that he’s been sleeping better for the past couple of months, ever since he started doing the therapy origami. She shook her head, hundreds of her neat lil curls dancing around her head.

“Oh no, dear boy,” she smiled, patting his left shoulder with mother like fondness, “You look happy. Light. It’s a good look on you.”

 

And that was why he was staring down his own reflection.

Because if Trisha - good, patient Trisha who saw him twice a week - saw a change in him?

Maybe he would too?

Truth be told, it’s been a while since Bucky looked - really looked - at himself. Looked at himself as a survivor, as a new person who emerged from hell of war and tried to survive. For the longest of time, the only thought he had whenever he looked into a mirror was how tired he looked.

Like all those years were etched into his skin, despite him not looking more than thirty.

Now though, now he could see small lines around his eyes and lips, the ones that came from smiling and laughing. He could see that his eyes were somehow brighter, focused; in the color of a Winter sky, not a mudded window.

He did look happier.

 

Huh.

 

“Miss FRI?” He called out once he stepped out from the bathroom, tying his hair back.

“Hello Sarge, you’re looking fresh this morning.”

He blinked, shook his head. Peter has been around quite a lot lately and apparently, FRIDAY adopted both the kid and some new lingo.

“How’s the count today?”

“You’re thirty three cranes away from an even thousand. I think you’re about to get your wish Sarge.”

 

Bucky hummed under his breath.

 

He picked up one of the more expensive papers; larger sheets, better colors. He dragged his fingers of the smooth, shiny black and blue lines.

“How long did it take me?”

Tony managed to rewire Stabby Char so that James’ jars were safe now. He still visited the workshop daily; it became a habit he neither tried or wanted to break.

He liked being there; surrounded by Tony’s inventions and the sounds of creation. He liked the bots, he liked talking to Friday in the very core of where she was born.

He liked talking to Tony.

There were their comfortable silences came shared lunches and staggering amounts of coffee. He witnessed the way Tony literally lit up when talking about his projects - be it for the team or the R&D.

As Bucky stacked the papers in a neat pile, his thoughts wandered.

He remembered that very first parcel that came. How Tony - who was Stark, then, just as he was Barnes and Barnes only - looked so washed out, so strained. How his skin looked pulled too tight around the bones in his face.

Such a contrast, to the Tony now,  who welcomed him with a wave of a hand and “ _be right with you, Starbuck_ ”. To the Tony who snagged pieces of food from Bucky’s plate, the Tony who laughed at stories about Steve and his god awful adventures that more often than not, landed him in the dumpster. Who seemed to constantly smell of coffee and hot metal, who would smudge motor oil over Bucky’s chest when he’d playfully smack him.

Such a difference, from how not that long ago - because what was half a year? -   in a room full of people, Tony seemed even more alone than Bucky felt to them. How now he’d fall asleep on Clint’s shoulder or get lured out by Natasha to spend hours in the common room, her feet on his lap as they went through the whole section of Russian Literature Classics.

To how Steve would reach out, pat Tony on the shoulder and be welcomed with a grin and a remark, where once Steve’s hand would merely twitch and never touch, where Tony would flinch and skitter nervously.

To how on a cold December afternoon, Tony told him about his mother, her love for music and surprisingly simple foods. How Tony apologized and forgave when Bucky apologized in the same moment. How they spent the hours after in silence, sitting side to side until Tony rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder and said that what they both needed then, was dressing warm and clearing their heads.

Tony took him for a fly that cold evening and Bucky wasn’t ashamed to say, he held onto the Iron Man armor for dear life as the city became smaller and smaller below. They flew high and took a plunge, Bucky’s heart dropping into his stomach but not for once he doubted that Tony would keep him safe.

Bucky remembered Tony’s laugh in his ears, resonating from the armor and louder than the whoosh of air, louder than the    

 

He caught his reflection on the way out.

There was a blush on his cheeks, his lips pulled in the sappiest smile he ever saw on himself. Huh. So Trisha was right, it seemed.

Bucky truly looked happy.

But there was something else, too.

 

Bucky, for the first time in so long, looked hopeful.

  
  
  


It was a testament to how much Tony got used to Bucky’s presence in the workshop that he didn’t even flinch when a metal hand holding a paper crane appeared in his line of vision.

Instead, with an immediate grin, Tony turned from the suit to Bucky and took the crane, careful not to damage the figurine.

It was lovely; the blue and black contrasting in a lovely way, the light reflecting from the surface in happy little sparks. It was probably one of the best ones up to date, slightly bigger than the usual ones.

“This one’s really nice, Buttercup,” Tony grinned as he handed it back, only to have Bucky shake his head.

“It’s for you.” He smiled, soft and private and Tony felt that funny thump inside of his chest again. “I’d like it if you’d keep this one too.”

With mouth suddenly dry as the desert, Tony stared at Bucky.

Bucky who was leaning comfortably onto the table next to them, who wore soft looking henleys and who tied his hair into a ridiculous man-bun that made him look as the Avengers’ top-tier hipster. At Bucky who started bringing him paper cranes, who left them for Tony especially to find in the oddest places.

He could only look at that impossible man and remember FRIDAY’s words.

 _Because the first one made you happy, Boss_.  

There was only a certain amount of time Tony could tell himself it all was nothing.

That he didn’t feel a happy bubble burst inside of him when Bucky came down to spend a few hours with him. That they didn’t share moments upon moments of just looking at each other - and that they always made each other smile.

 

That there weren’t seconds where Tony wanted to reach out and grab and pull.  
  


To hold and not let go.

 

“This is the thousandth crane, Sarge. Congratulations,” FRIDAY chirped from above and the bots beeped in union, happy that their new human friend achieved his task.

Something lodged itself in Tony’s throat; a sudden flare of irrational panic that now that all the cranes were complete, there would be no more of those shared whiles with Bucky.

“Oh,” he cleared his throat, watched Bucky’s smile soften even further and oh, well damn, if that wasn’t a good look on him. “Congratulations, indeed. So, time for your wish to come true, yeah?”

Bucky shrugged one shoulder, ducked his head for a moment. He looked absolutely adorable, Tony thought and barely stopped himself from cooing.

Then Bucky looked up and all thoughts flew out of Tony’s head because he couldn’t quite recall when was the last time someone looked at him with that much earnesty.

Probably Pepper, Tony realized and then blinked as how the thought of her didn’t come with a pang of ache anymore.  

 

“It kinda already did,” Bucky said, shuffled closer, close enough that Tony could feel the heat of his body.

“Just sayin’, if it was world peace you wanted then you didn’t do a very good job.”

“Nah, darlin’,” and oh, that was a nice thing to discover, what Bucky’s rusty Brooklyn drawl did to him, “Wanted somethin' a 'lil bit closer to home.”

 

Tony hummed, rocked on the soles of his feet lightly, the distance between them practically non-existent by now. “Yeah? How close? Like this?” He tipped his head up and there was no way to misread or over-analyze any of this anymore.

The smile he got in reply was a sight to behold. And the feel of the metal palm gently curved around his jaw? Grounding.

Just like his hands on the rise of Bucky’s hips.

 

“Closer.”

 

Tony breathed the word in, basked in the way their lips caught - a hair away from a proper kiss - and the way Bucky’s eyes were winter blue in the lights of his lab. He felt something unfold deep within him and bloom, warm and fragile and holding so many promises.

“Hey, Bucky,” Tony whispered, his hold tightening as those surprisingly gentle metal fingers slipped into his hair. “Thanks for the cranes.”

 

Whatever Bucky’s answer to that might have been, Tony kissed it from his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> my entry for the Iron Man Big Bang 2018/2019!! which also makes for my very first Bang! 
> 
> digital graphics done by [ my marvelous Z ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trashcanakin/pseuds/Trashcanakin)  
> and the beautiful letterings were done by [ super sweet Mena ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menatiera/pseuds/Menatiera)  
> It was a pleasure and an honor to have you both as my artists and thank you so, so much for your endless support! 
> 
> super huge shout out to Amethystina, Shi-Toyu and orbingarrow for the huge, insanely huge amount of support I have gotten from them during my worst meltdown about this fic and without them, the fic would probably never be finished. Thank you so much.


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